You are an old man on your deathbed. Your cat is asleep on your lap. You've lived a good life; it's time to go. But you can't help but notice all the weird things around you.

You are an old man on your deathbed. Your cat is asleep on your lap. You've lived a good life; it's time to go. But you can't help but notice all the weird things around you. On the bed next to you is a pair of flip-flops. Just sitting there, next to the pillow. You can't see the bottoms, but you know the way the straps curve across the top. You've owned these flip-flops for years. You can't remember where or when you bought them, but they've been a staple of your wardrobe since...well, since you grew old and retired. You never wore them until then, but they were always there, tucked away in the back of the closet or the drawer. You've traveled in these flip-flops, gone on vacation, spent time at the beach. You've even worn them while mowing the lawn. You remember one time you wore them to the bar, and everyone stared at you when you walked in. You were the only man there with flip-flops on his feet, and many of them commented on it. You remember one girl in particular, a girl with long black hair and a purple sundress. She came over to you and asked why you were wearing flip-flops. You told her you didn't want to wear shoes, and she laughed. You never saw her again. You also never saw her before. You don't know how old she was, but she was younger than you. You remember that. You were old even back then. At least, you looked old. You don't know how old you really are. You know your age, of course, but you don't know how it feels. You've never felt old. You look at the flip-flops on the bed again. Why are they there? You look at your cat. She's sleeping soundly on your lap. You reach down and pet her, scratching behind her ears. You can't see her face, but you know she's smiling. You can always tell when she's happy. You realize you don't know your cat's name. At least, you don't think you do. You think her name is Missy, but you don't know how you know that. You know you call her Missy sometimes, but you also call her Fluffy. You don't know which is correct. Actually, you don't know if you call her either of those. You look at your cat again. She's still sleeping. You reach down and pet her more, scratching behind her ears again. You can still tell she's smiling. Why do you think she's smiling when you can't see her face? You look around the room. It's dark. You can't see anything except for the bed and the dresser. You don't know where the dresser is, but you can see it. You remember opening the drawers and looking through your clothes. You don't know why you did that, but you remember it. You try to stand up. You can't. Your legs don't work. You know this already, but you try to stand up anyway. You can't. Your cat jumps off your lap. She was sleeping. How did she wake up so fast? You can't see her face. You look at the floor. You can't see anything. It's too dark. How did you know your cat jumped off your lap? Did you feel it? You don't think so. There's a knock at the door. You look at the door. It's closed. You can't see it, but you know it's closed. You also can't see who or what is on the other side of the door. You can't even see the door handle. "Come in," you call out. You hear the door open. You can't see who or what walked in. The light behind them is bright, but you can't see the light itself. You can only see that it's dark in front of it, and that there's someone or something standing in front of it. "What?" you ask. "You called?" "I did?" "You said 'come in'." "I didn't mean to." "Oh." "How old am I?" "What?" "How old am I?" "You're old." "How old?" "I don't know." "Why are you standing in front of the light?" you ask. "Huh?" "Why are you standing in front of the light?" "What light?" "The light behind you." "There is no light behind me." "There is. I can see it." "I don't see anything." You look at your cat. She's standing next to you, on the bed. You can't see her face. "How old do you think I am?" "I don't know," she says. "You can talk?" you ask. "Yes." "When did you learn?" "I don't know." "Why are you standing on the bed?" "I don't know." You look back at the person standing in front of the light. At least, you try to. You don't think you can see them. "Hello?" you call out. "I'm still here." "Why are you standing in front of the light?" "There is no light behind me." You sigh. "Never mind." "Okay." You sit in silence. You can't see anything. You can't feel anything. You can't hear anything except for your breathing. You can't smell anything. You remember something. At least, you think you do. You can't see your memories, but you can feel them. You remember something. You were a boy once. You grew up on a farm. You remember chickens and pigs and cows. You remember dogs and cats. You remember playing outside for hours. You remember getting very dirty. You look at your cat. "You were there, weren't you?" you ask. "Yes." "How old am I?" "I don't know." "Why are you on the bed?" "I don't know." You sigh again. "Never mind." "Okay." You sit in silence again. You can't see anything. You can't feel anything. You can't hear anything except for your breathing. You can't smell anything. You hear footsteps. You turn your head. You can't see anything. "What was that?" "What was what?" "Those footsteps." "I didn't hear anything." You hear the footsteps again. You turn your head again. You still can't see anything. "What's that?" you ask. "What?" You hear the footsteps again. They're getting louder. "Wait," you say. "I know those footsteps." "What are you talking about?" "I know those footsteps," you repeat. "They're mine." "How can they be mine?" "I don't know." You hear the footsteps again. They're right next to you. A hand reaches out and touches yours. You can't see it, but you can feel it. It's a small hand. A child's hand. "Hello?" a voice says. You turn your head. You can't see anything. "Hello?" the voice says again. You look at your cat. She's still standing next to you. You can't see her face. "Is that you?" you ask. "Yes." "How old am I?" "You're very young." "Why are you on the bed?" "I don't know." You look at the hand holding yours. You can't see it. "What's your name?" "I don't know." "How old are you?" "I'm very young." You hear the footsteps again. They're getting fainter. "Wait," you say. "Don't go." "I have to." "No. Please." "I'm sorry." You hear the footsteps again. They're even fainter. You can't see anything. You can't feel anything. You can't hear anything except for your breathing. You can't smell anything. You look at your cat. She's still standing next to you. "What?" you ask. "I didn't say anything." You realize you can see her face. It's smiling. "How old am I?" "You're old," she says. "Why are you on the bed?" "I'm waiting for you." You look at the flip-flops on the bed. "Why are they there?" "I don't know." You hear footsteps. They're getting louder. "I have to go," you say. "I know." You stand up. Your legs don't work, but you stand up anyway. You can see the floor. It's dark. You can't see anything except for your cat and the flip-flops. "Goodbye," you say. "Goodbye," she says. You walk to the door. You can't see it. You can't see the door handle. But you know they're there. You open the door. You can see the light behind it. It's bright. You can't see what's on the other side of the door. You know you have to go there. You walk through the door. You can't see anything. You can't feel anything. You can't hear anything except for your breathing. You can't smell anything. You're old. You're ready to go. You've lived a good life. At least, you think you have. You can't see anything.

You are an old man on your deathbed. Your cat is asleep on your lap. You've lived a good life; it's time to go. But you can't help but notice all the weird things around you.

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